


Haven't Got Time for Anything Else

by the_dala



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bittersweet, F/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5608540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dala/pseuds/the_dala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>As soon as he crosses the tarmac to the Resistance shuttle, he draws Leia off by an elbow.</i>
</p><p>  <i>"What are you doing?" she demands, tart as ever.</i></p><p>  <i>"We gotta talk."</i></p><p>A missing moment from Han and Leia's reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haven't Got Time for Anything Else

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: "Han/Leia: he still thinks she's sexy as hell" - at the [Star Wars Fic Fest](http://igrockspock.livejournal.com/365678.html) on LJ

There's never a lot of spare time when you're running a campaign to save the galaxy from its ugliest face. Han knows the flurry of activity around a landing will be his best opportunity; the capable lieutenant at the shuttle controls can handle things for a few minutes. And after all these years, Chewie knows exactly when to scram without being asked. His only concern is their passenger, but not even the loss of Rey can distract Finn from this glimpse at the other side of the mirror. He wanders off with a loose grip on his blaster and his eyes wide open, reminding Han entirely too much of another sheltered kid on another forested base, a lifetime ago.

As soon as he crosses the tarmac to the Resistance shuttle, he draws Leia off by an elbow.

"What are you doing?" she demands, tart as ever.

"We gotta talk." Han's never been on D'Qar before, but the base layout hasn't changed much over the years. He turns a couple of corners until they're in a relatively secluded alcove. Leia is right behind him - she never did have trouble keeping up, for all the difference in their strides.

"Han, if you don't -"

He turns on his heel, his body remembering the bend down to catch her mouth. Without thinking about it he lifts her, prompting a startled noise before she clutches at his shoulders for support. The immediate twinge in his spine makes it a short trip (too many years replicating this same move, or maybe not enough) but it puts them farther down the corridor, against the wall, where he can press her back against the cool stones.

Leia's arms wrap around him, one hand sliding up under his jacket and the other down, making him snort laughter into the crown of her head.

"You've still got a grip like a gundark."

Her chin tucks into the collar of his shirt as she works her way up his neck. "And you've still got a firm handful, you bastard."

Han quirks an eyebrow at this, running a hand from her hip to her waist to the swell of her breast beneath the sensible jumpsuit. It's been a long time since he could span her ribcage with his palms, but he's no less enamored of her softer, rounder figure. There's still that iron strength to her, and she still responds to his touch with all the fire of their younger days.

They haven't talked yet, not really, and they're definitely not talking now. Han thinks that maybe they're both finally ready for it. But just in case there isn't time before they take off on whatever madcap mission comes calling next, he's going to hold on for as long as he can and kiss her like his life depends on it. That's the way it always felt, anyway - the way it still feels.

"General?"

They break apart at once, Han with a ragged gasp, Leia already fastening the two clasps he'd worked open.

"I'll be right there," she calls, her voice a little hoarse. Han expects her to square her shoulders and head for the control room, without a hair out of place, but she pauses.

Her hand reaches out, small and delicate, though he doesn't doubt she still finds herself covered in engine oil from time to time. He takes it, studying the lines on her palm. There's a tiny crescent-shaped scar at the base of her wrist from the time she helped their son construct a model of the _Falcon_ for Han's birthday. She closes her eyes and he watches her remember. Ben was eight years old; a sharp metal piece had bitten into her skin but she'd been too focused to grab a bacta patch, and anyway she didn't want to ruin the surprise. He discovered it under her sleeve later than night and pressed a kiss to the mark, just as he does now.

"Committee's calling, Princess," he murmurs.

She rolls her eyes with that familiar exasperated affection, which was exactly the reaction he'd been gunning for.

He gives her a couple of minutes to beat him to the meeting. She's back to being General Organa, the ring of her authority echoing off the walls; but Han's still a smuggler at heart, and he figures he's got another stolen moment or two up his sleeve.


End file.
